


expiry

by bespokenboy



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Angst, Childhood Friends to Lovers, First Kisses, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-07-22 08:33:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7427692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bespokenboy/pseuds/bespokenboy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mingyu was sixteen when he realized just how impossible and miraculous Wonwoo was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	expiry

The ground was soft beneath Mingyu’s bare feet when he ran away from home. He left a trail of muddy footprints through their backyard that continued on the other side of the fence that was just high enough for Mingyu to climb over with a struggle. 

 

His running slowed to a trot and then to a walk when he reached a cluster of trees so thick that its canopy blocked out the gray sky completely. It was so dark it could have been nighttime. Echoes of raised voices resounded in Mingyu’s head, and he decided that he wouldn’t be afraid of a little darkness.

 

Broken twigs and dried leaves scratched at the smooth soles of Mingyu’s feet, not yet marred by tough calluses. He held his breath as he passed through the forest as quietly as possible, unsure of what he would encounter in there, but preferring this unsettling silence to the raging clamor back home. 

 

Eventually the trees thinned out until he reached a clearing that felt completely out of place amongst the wilderness. It looked almost like a garden of some kind. There were shrubs and flowers that looked like they were cultivated by human hands, though Mingyu couldn’t imagine that anyone could live so deep into the woods. Even the air was different here. He inhaled a cool, crisp scent that smelled both sweet and wistful at once.

 

As Mingyu padded closer, he realized that the beautiful scent that laced the air came from the white blossoms sprouting from the bushes all around him. He plucked one and cradled it in his hands as he brought it up to his face. Its fragrance filled his chest with a lovely kind of ache, a longing his young heart couldn’t then comprehend. It wouldn’t occur to him until later just how impossible the flowers’ presence was. 

 

“Gardenia,” a voice said, startling Mingyu.

 

He looked up and finally noticed a boy sitting cross-legged among the bushes, a book open in his lap. He was wearing what looked like a school uniform—white button down shirt, light gray blazer, and black tie. The lapel of his blazer bore a patch with a fancy private school crest on it, but he didn’t seem to mind that his uniform was getting rumpled and dirty from sitting in the grass.

 

“Hi, I’m Mingyu. What’s your name?” Mingyu said, greeting the boy warmly. He was always eager to make a new friend.

 

“Wonwoo.” The boy didn’t spare a glance at Mingyu, his eyes still trained on the pages of his book as he pushed his round glasses up the bridge of his nose with a slim fingertip. 

 

“Gardenia?” Mingyu repeated, breathing in the flower’s scent again. “Is that what this flower is called?”

 

“Yes.” Wonwoo finally closed his book. With the pad of his thumb, he stroked its cover with a wanting touch and then placed it on the ground next to him. “It’s my mother’s favorite flower.”

 

“Is this her garden?”

 

“It was here when we moved here.” He jerked his thumb towards a cabin in the distance, tucked behind a smattering of trees. 

 

“Is that where you live?” Mingyu asked curiously. “Are your parents home? Do you have any siblings? How old are you?”

 

Mingyu stopped himself before he bombarded Wonwoo with any more questions. This is something he has always been chastised for, asking too many questions all at once. 

 

“How old are you, Wonwoo?” Mingyu asked again, deeming it to be the most important question of them all. 

 

Wonwoo hesitated, thinking, as if Mingyu had asked a far more complicated question. Finally he said, “Sixteen.”

 

Later, Mingyu would realize that this was just how Wonwoo spoke—carefully, like he deliberated over every word that passed through his lips. 

 

“That makes you my hyung!” Mingyu pointed out. Wonwoo didn’t ask, but Mingyu told him, “I’m ten years old.”

 

A smile slowly lit up Wonwoo’s face, making him look like an entirely different person. Or rather, it made him look more awake, more alive. 

 

“Nice to meet you, Mingyu,” he said in a soft, but pleasantly low voice.

 

Mingyu wouldn’t properly notice until much later, but there was something achingly exquisite about Wonwoo—something so miraculous that it affected Mingyu viscerally. Wonwoo’s very existence was so beautiful and fragile, like a butterfly’s wing. 

 

Mingyu was impossibly drawn to him. 

 

Inching closer to Wonwoo, Mingyu noticed another scent. Wonwoo smelled like an oncoming storm, earthy and intangible, and so far away despite being right next to Mingyu. 

 

Wonwoo asked, “What are you doing out here in the middle of the woods, Mingyu?”

 

Mingyu’s wide, curious eyes suddenly shuttered, and he looked into his lap as he mumbled something about running away from home. 

 

“Are you alright, Mingyu? Is everything okay at home?” Wonwoo’s voice was gentle. Mingyu could hear the kindness in it. 

 

“My parents have been arguing,” Mingyu finally admitted. “My mom didn’t want to move out of the city. She hates being here, where there’s only nature and no shops or libraries or museums.”

 

It was difficult for Mingyu to adjust too, even though his attachment to their old home wasn’t as strong as his mother’s. He scratched absently at his mosquito bitten ankles as he reflected on his first few weeks living in the countryside. It was strange, moving from the city to somewhere with so many living creatures. At first, it was always too noisy at night for him to sleep well. But like anything else, he eventually got used to it. 

 

Wonwoo nodded, his eyes full of sadness and understanding. He somehow looked much older than sixteen, and Mingyu began to understand why some young people are called “old souls.”

 

“What are your parents like, Wonwoo-hyung?” Mingyu asked. He suspected that nobody else’s parents fought as frequently or as loudly as his did. 

 

“I wish I could see them more often,” Wonwoo sighed. “They’re always at work, and I’m always waiting for them to come home.”

 

Mingyu tried to wrap his mind around this. It was impossible to decide which was worse: seeing too much of his parents or not being able to see them enough. But he still felt like he should say something to comfort Wonwoo's troubled expression. 

 

He finally settled on, “Parents suck, don't they?”

 

“I know it's hard to remember sometimes, but they love us. And I bet they'll be worried that you're gone, Mingyu,” said Wonwoo. 

 

“They probably haven't even noticed yet,” Mingyu said bitterly. 

 

“Promise me you'll go home though?”

 

“Fine,” Mingyu relented. “But I don't want to go home just yet. I want to stay here, and talk to you.”

 

Wonwoo smiled a little sadly. The sixteen year old boy suddenly looked at once both very young and very old. He had the kind of smile that transformed him, that shifted all of his facial features around just for his face to accommodate it. Mingyu wanted to make him smile even more. 

 

“Are there any other kids where you live, Mingyu?”

 

“A few. But it’s girls, mostly. All they want to do is play house and ring around the rosie.”

 

“Ring around the rosie? What’s that?”

 

“Here, I’ll show you,” Mingyu said, reaching out for Wonwoo’s hands.

 

But Wonwoo recoiled, moving out of reach to avoid Mingyu’s touch. “I’m sick,” he apologized. “It’s better if you don’t touch me.”

 

Mingyu nodded in understanding. “I’ll just explain the game then. Everyone holds hands and dances in a circle and, at the end, pretends to fall over. There’s a song that goes with it, too.”

 

He recited the nursery rhyme, and Wonwoo frowned, especially at the last line: “ _ Ashes, ashes, we all fall down _ .”

 

“That game sounds dreadful,” Wonwoo said, shuddering delicately. 

“It is,” Mingyu agreed, but for different reasons than Wonwoo. To Mingyu, it was simply annoying and infantile, but the lyrics were profoundly disturbing to Wonwoo.

 

“So, what do  _ you _ like to do?” Mingyu inquired, turning the conversation to Wonwoo.

 

Again, Wonwoo was quiet as though constructing a painstaking answer in his mind. “Reading,” he finally said.

 

“I can see that!” Mingyu laughed, nodding at the book on the ground next to Wonwoo’s knee. “What kind of books do you like?”

 

“Oh, all kinds,” Wonwoo answered. He began telling Mingyu about the books he had read recently. 

 

Mingyu listened intently, playing with blades of grass as he listened to the smooth, lovely sound of Wonwoo’s voice. It was nice to hear him speak at length about something so eagerly.

 

Eventually hunger clawed at Mingyu’s stomach and he regrettably told Wonwoo that he had to return home for dinner. Wonwoo nodded in understanding and said, “Come back soon, okay?”

 

And he did. Mingyu took pleasure in returning to the garden in the middle of the woods, where the crisp air was fragranced with the forlorn scent of gardenias. He never told anyone about the place. He liked to think of the garden as a secret sanctuary, he liked to keep Wonwoo to himself. 

 

Sometimes Wonwoo sang to him. Other times he told stories. The stories all had an antiquated quality to them, like they were the ghosts of another era, a time remote from Mingyu's. Wonwoo narrated in first person, but Mingyu assumed they were stories lifted from the pages of novels. He knew how much Wonwoo loved to read books. 

 

Mingyu never questioned the simple rhythms of their friendship until he got older, close to the age Wonwoo had been when they first met. There were stretches of time when Mingyu was away or otherwise occupied, unable to visit Wonwoo. He was afraid that the sparseness of the time spent together would put a strain on their friendship. He was afraid that one day Mingyu would return to the garden and Wonwoo wouldn't be there. 

 

But Wonwoo was always sitting among the florals, placidly paging through whatever book he got his hands on. He would always look up when he noticed Mingyu approaching with bare feet, his soles twin mosaics of calluses. They would always manage to pick up right where they left off, happily chattering away no matter how long it had been since Mingyu had last visited. 

 

Mingyu was sixteen when he realized just how impossible and miraculous Wonwoo was. 

 

They were laying in the grass together, Wonwoo’s stomach pressed to the ground as he rested on his elbows to pore over a mystery novel. Mingyu’s arms were folded behind his head as he watched the endless sky with distant eyes.

 

There was a careful distance between them, maintained out of habit more than anything else. But Mingyu was itching to close that distance. As the boys his age fell prey to attraction in the form of pretty girls in the neighborhood, Mingyu realized there was one person he thought was more beautiful than anyone he would ever see. 

 

And he was laying right next to him. 

 

Mingyu rolled over onto his stomach and propped himself up with one elbow. With a firm fingertip, he pushed the cover of the book shut, forcing Wonwoo to look at him. Irritation passed fleetingly through Wonwoo's expression until he noticed the strange, imploring look in Mingyu's eyes. 

 

“What's the matter, Mingyu?”

 

“Is it okay if I….?” Mingyu began to ask, with noticeable difficulty. His voice was hoarse and troubled. “Can I….”

 

Feelings caught thickly in his throat, and for a moment Mingyu was not sure whether to swallow them down or choke them out. He reached for Wonwoo’s cheek with outstretched fingers, but Wonwoo leaned away just out of his grasp. 

 

“Sorry,” Mingyu apologized quickly, withdrawing his hand in shame. Remembering the excuse Wonwoo used the first time Mingyu tried to touch him, he asked, “Are you still….sick?”

 

Wonwoo opened his mouth as if to respond, and then he closed it again and stared at his pale, elegant knuckles. 

 

“It's complicated,” Wonwoo said. 

 

There was a perpetual haziness about Wonwoo, just around the edges. Mingyu had never before tried to scrutinize him with greater acuity than he did now. He began to perceive details about Wonwoo with sudden clarity. 

 

Starting with his uniform. Wonwoo's shirt and blazer were identical to what he had been wearing when Mingyu first stumbled into his garden all those years ago. If Wonwoo was really a student, he should have already graduated a long time ago. 

 

In fact, nothing about Wonwoo's appearance had changed since then. Rather than looking older, Wonwoo looked the same age as Mingyu. 

 

“What are you?” Mingyu asked, before realizing how impolite he sounded. “I mean….are you a human?”

 

Wonwoo frowned. Rephrasing it didn't make it much better. “I think I was human, once. It's been too long for me to remember properly.”

 

“Is that why you can't let me touch you? What happens if a human touches you?”

 

“I don't know,” Wonwoo said, his voice tight with pain. “You're the only human I've met.”

 

“Oh.” Mingyu's voice was soft. “What do you think think would happen?”

 

“I really have no idea.”

 

“Come on, you've read so many fantasy novels. Use your imagination. What's the worst thing that could happen if I held your hand? Or hugged you? Or, um, kissed you….”

 

Mingyu's voice trailed away shyly, leaving Wonwoo flustered with want. He tried to conjure in his mind the most terrible scenario imaginable.  

 

“You could end up like me,” Wonwoo finally warned. “Stuck like this forever.”

 

Mingyu’s eyes lit up. “Now that doesn’t sound too bad.”

 

“Are you sure? You love birthdays, right? Imagine being sixteen for the rest of eternity, never turning seventeen.”

 

“I’d rather be sixteen with you forever than seventeen without you.”

 

The words rolled off his tongue easily, betraying just how much he wanted Wonwoo. It left them both shy and embarrassed. 

 

“I see,” Wonwoo said quietly. 

 

“You see what?” Mingyu wanted to know, suddenly unsure of himself in a way that he had never been around Wonwoo.

 

“You really want to kiss me, don’t you.”

 

He phrased it like a statement, rather than a question. Swallowing nervously, Mingyu said, “I’m sorry.”

 

“Why are you sorry?”

 

“I’m sorry,” Mingyu said again helplessly. “It’s just….I think I love you. Is that bad? I’m sorry,” he apologized one more time, for good measure and because he didn’t know what else to say.

 

“I love you too,” Wonwoo laughed quietly, amazed by the quick relief saying the words out loud gave him. 

 

Mingyu’s face brightened again with happy disbelief. “Really?” he asked incredulously. 

 

“And I want to kiss you, too. But I’m scared.”

 

“Oh,” Mingyu said, his hope deflating. “Are you scared of what might happen?”

 

Wonwoo shook his head. “No, it’s not that. I’ve never kissed anyone before.”

 

“I haven’t either,” Mingyu admitted. It suddenly occurred to him that he had been waiting to give his first kiss to Wonwoo. 

 

“I’m nervous,” Wonwoo whispered.

 

“I know a way that might make you less nervous.”

 

“What’s that?”

 

“Let’s play chicken. You can back out if you decide that you’re too scared.”

 

“Okay,” Wonwoo agreed faintly.

 

Mingyu closed his eyes and leaned into Wonwoo. He moved slowly, giving Wonwoo time to change his mind, but Wonwoo stayed resolute as Mingyu’s tanned skin and thick dark eyelashes came closer. He closed his eyes just before Mingyu’s slightly parted lips sought his. 

 

Mingyu tasted Wonwoo’s lips, cool and smooth like menthol. Kissing him was better than he could have imagined. He found his tongue, warm and sweet like sugar and butter. His skin was incredibly soft in comparison to Mingyu’s rough, callused hands as he touched Wonwoo’s cheek, then his neck, and then a sliver of skin on his back where the hem of his shirt couldn’t reach. 

 

After that kiss dissolved, Mingyu pulled away for a moment just to look at Wonwoo, all pale and lovely in the soft glow of the sun. Wonwoo’s eyes swam up to him from someplace deep under the surface, and he smiled, just before Mingyu kissed him again. 

 

But this time Wonwoo’s skin felt dry and dusty, and Mingyu thought he tasted soot in his mouth. 

 

Mingyu broke away in horror, just to catch the look of wistful amusement on Wonwoo’s face as his skin turned ashen.

 

“So this is what happens,” Wonwoo whispered quietly, looking at his hands as they began crumble into a fine powder. “I always wondered.” 

 

Mingyu stared in a terrified silence, and Wonwoo smiled sadly at him, reaching out to touch his face before crumbling into pitchy dust like black snowflakes. Mingyu was left only with a beautiful pile of ash in his hands and the scent of gardenias lingering where there was once the silhouette of a skinny boy. 

  
The next day, Mingyu turned seventeen. 


End file.
